His Wedding Night
by JRTT
Summary: A three part short story (novelette length). Darcy POV (mostly), canonish D&E.
1. Chapter 1

This story is a complement to the short piece from the Elizabeth POV - A Dawn and a Morning After. It was first posted at AHA.

I didn't really want to do his POV to her night so this doesn't quite flow like that short story. But it's the same night nonetheless. (As in their marriage consummation night) The sexy bits come at the end so y'all have to bear with it if you wish to get there with him...(insert evil laughter) lol.

As usual, thanks to all the male poets and writers and songsters for giving me an idea into the male mind. It remains ever a puzzle to me without those insights.

* * *

 **His Wedding Night**

 **Part I**

"Do you not agree Mr Darcy?" Belatedly nodding, Darcy broke free of his thoughts and immediately took control of the situation.

"Yes Miss Bingley, I truly believe it will be for the best. We must leave here and it must be immediately. To delay will only encourage conflict and confusion. It is best that we leave this week, tomorrow, if it can be managed." The more he spoke, the firmer it spoke of his conviction. Caroline Bingley did her best to stifle the look of satisfaction that crept over her face. The sense of accord that she wanted with this man seemed so entirely within her grasp.

Immediately, as if instinctively he knew what she was about, Darcy quickly made his excuses and departed Netherfield's front parlour willing himself to come to terms with his mind's decision even if his heart was saturated with stubborn rebellion. It would be for the best he thought, time and distance was ever the healer. He felt it would be so, he hoped it would be so.

Sometimes however, nothing happens and one is lulled into complacency that everything is well. Then, like the broken neck of a sportsman coming to ground on a spirited hunter on a normal everyday hunt, life can be transported into chaos. Rosings had created chaos. And like the destruction of war, where he should have been happy that his previously held reservations were justified. In the end, he felt he had lost nothing and and yet, at the same time had lost everything. Slowly in the aftermath, he had reconstructed his life, pulling back the glimpses of the future he thought was his for the asking. He had done it, feeling himself all the stronger for what had occurred at the Hunsford parsonage that fateful day.

He remembered the sadness he felt quitting Netherfield thinking he would never see her again. He remembered the utter desolation after Rosings. But today, everything made up for it. His heart was happy and as he looked at her, a look of such significance as she signed her maiden name for the last time in the register, he could not help reflecting on his own face the joy and happiness that so radiated from her own. Her smiles and laughter were contagious as she took the congratulations from both his family and hers. He allowed her her triumph, because triumph she did, over everything and everyone, even himself. As he observed her becoming surrounded by all the young ladies, he smiled to himself, the wedding, the wedding was always for the ladies. The wedding night, well, that was for the men.

* * *

Society has long acknowledged three life events that imprinted themselves upon the mind of a man; the death of his mother, the birth of his first child and his wedding night.

Society does not care about the individual. The mother who has lived to be the recipient of her son's scorn and neglect made worse through the dictates of an ill-natured and devious wife. Nor would society rattle away on the injustices done to a child whose entrance into the world was marked by an unknown father without whom its station in life amounted to verily nothing. Nor does society care overmuch about the couple whose marriage of convenience ensured that their wedding night was marked with awkward indifference or loathing and distress.

For Fitzwilliam Darcy however, though he occasionally shook off society's shackles to suit his purposes, the life events that marked the mind of a man developed exactly as how society had allowed. He had already endured the loss of his mother. At a time when such a loss sealed his fate to forever recall it at odd, unconnected moments with all the weariness of what could have been. He looked forward to the birth of his first child in the not too distant future but, only from a woman that he would call wife. As to the third, having outmanoevred many of society's other dictates, he now looked forward to a wedding night that held the promise of greatness.

If a man could be said to have ran through the details of such a night a thousand times over - it would be he. He had thought about it, dreamt about it. Had imagined exactly how it would be, long before, much much longer before the woman in question had any notion at all that she was the object of such intense desire and longing by such a man.

Over the course of their one month courtship, much had occurred to show _her_ the true meaning of affection from a loving man and to show _him_ the true worth of a woman whose heart was worth the capture. He had been, by the time of his wedding, thoroughly well acquainted with all of the finer details of love and his ardour and affection had only grown.

That his lady was intelligent he had no doubt, but to have that wit turned to him as to one deserving of her confidence. To be the object of her playful and decidedly affectionate banter was something new and utterly joyful to him. Now that he knew how to look, he could easily tell the difference between an Elizabeth in dislike, an Elizabeth in like and an Elizabeth in love, and he sometimes wondered at how he could have been so stupid before as to have confused the former with the two latter.

Throughout their courting, his sense of delicacy had not proved lacking. He had been clearly able to discern her moments of trepidation and to know when _her_ confidence relied on _his_. And to know when his knowledge and information was a necessary guide to her. He had led her down the path to her first kiss, an act surprising in itself for the sheer shock and joy of it.

"Would you like to go for a walk Mr. Darcy?" She had asked it with a hint of teasing but it was of a kind he had not experienced before. It was accompanied by an expression which suggested that _she_ would very much like to go for a walk with him. How simple it had been- to go for a walk - and yet it seemed the whole world was changed during it. This walk had been very different. To be alone with her, yes there were others around, but to feel her walk close to him and walk closer still so that their bodies brushed each other, was exquisite. It had seemed that for both of them, there was a heightened awareness, a thrill of some unknown force bidding them to get closer and closer and closer.

She had taken him off the path, to look at the view she said. And while she pointed it out asking if it were not beautiful, he could only agree, because at that moment, only she filled his vision. The intense need for more closeness had brought him into her space. His eyes begged a question that only her lips could answer. He watched, mesmerised by her and by that unknown force, slowly dipping his head giving in to the desire that pounded his heart. Warm air coloured his thoughts as his pulse increased and his breath lay suspended, waiting for something inevitable to happen. Then, sweetly, he felt her lips touch his, searching, soft and vulnerable. He closed his eyes and opened his heart to the sensation. The feel of Elizabeth's lips on his, tentative and shy inflamed him. It created an overwhelming need to touch, to taste, to feel her. His arms wrapped themselves around her, relishing in her warmth. Her mouth became like a potent, heady wine that took control of his senses, leaving him intoxicated and exhilarated. Ignited to a degree he had never thought possible, he followed her with his lips, never ceasing contact as her form sank back on the powerful beech behind her. Her hands, of their own accord had reached under his coat pulling him towards her, sacrificing propriety for his body. He became aware of things he normally would not have noticed so quickly, the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin, the feel of cooler air as nature kicked up a breeze around them. His mind reeled and his body was quickly following, becoming aroused to a degree too painful to bear. Then, grasping her face in his palms, he slowed himself and deepened the kiss...deepened and slowed, deepened and slowed, conveying in that one kiss what she meant to him. Slowly he breathed in her warm breath and sighed to feel her singular presence entering his body.

Softly, the flow of his blood had subsided, receding like the tide. This, the fleeting thought crossed his mind, _is what it means to be alive. This moment, this woman_. They broke apart, flushed and conscious and awkward and then, without warning, she grabbed his coat and pulled him in for another, and then another and then they were laughing, kissing and laughing, and then growing serious and fervent until they both sighed as he held her to him, tight. They had crossed another juncture and now in the space of mere minutes, it seemed only natural that his lips would reach for hers and that hers would smile against his before parting to accept him.

When out in the wider society together, he observed in pure unstinting admiration, her protective nature of him as she sought to shield him from the excesses of vulgarity during his stay in her neighbourhood, despite the fact that his mind was now predisposed to overlook that which he could not ignore.

He found he could never love her as well as she deserved, especially when he had considered how slight her duty would have been compared to when he would have to likewise rise as her shield and protector as they entered society as husband and wife, a single unit, together. He knew that any marked vulgarity in Meryton proceeded not from malice but from familiarity. Something that did not altogether define the part of society where he resided. But he was prepared to be her champion. He had always been ready to do what he must for those who had his love and consideration, but for her above all others, there was no limit.

As he stood on the extensive circular Longbourn sweep in front the house, on this windy November afternoon, the sudden chill from the wind under his greatcoat distracted his meditative thoughts, and finally sunk within him the idea that it was indeed very cold. _My wife and I should really be leaving_ he thought. He had been a husband of maybe three hours at most, but thinking it brought a smile to his face of such warm fevour, that many who knew him would have been astonished. _My wife and I_ , he smiled again, absurdly repeating it aloud. Were it not for this reaffirming physical awareness and the slight drizzle that accompanied it, he might not have even observed the cold. so hot and fluid were his thoughts. They had been fixated on that _one_ room, that _one_ spot where that _one_ woman was located. He had been waiting very patiently out in the open air as she was making her goodbyes. He had gone outside to allow her some privacy with her family.

To describe his current state of mind he felt was impossible. It were as if he had always loved her. The strength of his attachment shocked him and still had him in a state of unsettled turmoil. He struggled to keep his mind, his responses to her, his _self-respecting manly behaviour_ , under good regulation. He struggled to appear to the world as if for _anything_ , this woman that he married did not command his every sliding thought. That she did not arouse his body with her proximity, nor his heartbeat with her smiles. Always a serious man, he found his world lightening considerably in her presence. It felt to him as if he had gotten a great privilege, a great boon in the gift of her love. A love he fervently hoped would increase exponentially as they grew old together. He had dusted off that glimpse of his future cast aside at Rosings and now it appeared before him like a newly minted coin, fresh, sharp and in his hands.

He once recalled, after being witness to a masterful battle between his aunt and uncle, the earl and countess, and of asking his cousin, the Colonel, half in jest, whether they would _possibly_ be able to live together after sharing such harsh words. He should not have been surprised two days later to see them as affectionate as he knew them to be.

In reflecting on the many married couples who claimed his acquaintance, there were few he wished to emulate. But one in particular struck him as ideal and, the irony of it all was that, he could not so much claim them as his acquaintance as his new wife's since they were her very own aunt and uncle Gardiner. Their affection and mutual regard along with their being affectionate parents, had shown him what he could aspire to. And that aspiration was beginning to supersede everything else. His view of the future was now...different.

With Elizabeth, he knew how well he had chosen. He did not think that the barriers would magically lift and that marriage would bring a resolution to all conflicts. They were two people after all. Elizabeth herself made that abundantly clear. She was a woman who refused to be bullied, cowed or cajoled into doing what she did not wish to. He knew there would not always agreement between them. They were both passionate in their own way and often independent in their thinking. But it was a complementary independence- never had he wanted a woman to consistently agree with him. He enjoyed the way her mind worked, matching his stride for stride. It created in him a different kind of passion, one that he looked forward to redirecting in new and different ways.

Having been the recipient of the fullest extent of her anger, he felt it would be difficult to provoke it, but still, he intended to try, because he secretly thought the surest way to arouse her was to provoke her. Using his influence to stop her ire with a kiss was a long held desire. In idle moments, when his mind was filled with her, he imagined and sometimes amused himself with all of these different scenes. But at the same time, he knew life would be drastically altered, forever changed. Now he would know what it was like to have a wife. Now he would know the joys and passions of having a woman constantly by his side, a lover and a friend, whom he loved and adored.

Not for the first time he sent silent prays for Georgiana. Through her, he experienced how to temper his behaviour and learnt something about taking care of a woman. Granted, being a brother who had almost been as a father could not compare to being a husband. But it gave him no little comfort to know that he already had that turn of mind, that want of delicacy, which, based on all that had been expected of him, all that he had learnt and seen, was to him so very necessary to love and provide for a woman, his wife.

* * *

It was not just about wealth and status he thought, with a gut-churning irony. Nothing prepared a man for a partner. Nothing tangible. A wife to him had always been an abstract thought, a future goal, an inevitability. It was neither pride nor vanity that marked him as an eligible catch. That was his reality.

The conversations had raged about him since he was fifteen years old and sometimes he was amazed to look back and think on how it was.

"Stewart. Who is that young man you have been asked to share your room with?" As a reticent fifteen year old, Fitzwilliam Darcy had settled himself into the fourth year dormitory at Eton but then was not quite able to make his escape before his roommate and his roommate's parents had arrived. Hastily he made a perfunctory bow, but, not leaving fast enough, he was privy to yet another conversation about himself.

"Oh mama" the young Viscount replied. "That is Darcy. The late Lord Matlock's grandson. His father is Mr Darcy of Pemberley."

"Mr Darcy of Pemberley?" Lord Dalvern the Earl of - asked, just as his wife interjected.

"Does he have an older brother?"

'No mama, no brothers, an only son." The youth rolled his eyes at his mother.

"Of Pemberley you say?" Lord Dalvern asked again.

"Yes papa" grimacing as his mother fixed his hair and brushed his coat.

"Well you must remember to bring him home." His mother continued. "Invite him home when you come down at the Lent half, your father will be organising a cricket match. I am sure he would like to come and I am sure Julia and Henrietta would enjoy meeting him. It will do him well to associate with those our rank you know, even if his father is just a gentleman. He is a handsome young man of fine figure and an only son! Yes, I am sure Julia and Henrietta will greatly enjoy meeting him."

Then...

"Darcy, may I present to you my sister, Lady Sarah."

A bow, a curtsey. A hand presented to be kissed, a lukewarm response.

Then another...

A scene of warm applause, he was twenty then.

"Oh Mr Darcy, you have such a fine seat on that horse! The finest seat sir!" The young lady was _actually_ ogling his seat.

A shared smirk between Wickham and the lady's cousin, men who were on the hunt with him and who happened to have been close enough to overhear, resulted in an angry look in their direction before he responded somewhat coolly.

"I thank you, Miss Crichlow."

At his uncle's withdrawing room at the age of twenty five.

"Darcy, Lord Melville asked me to speak with you. It seems he has a niece coming out this season and he asks if you would do him the honour of visiting her at his home and perhaps being part of her escort to a ball..." at the facial expression in front of him the earl hesitated "...or two..."

That last he would never agree to without his two cousins, Lord Matlock's own sons. One of whom actually _did_ go on to successfully court Lord Melville's niece who turned out to be a naturally engaging young woman. But he never regretted his own prideful turn to disapprove of those who courted his favour. Highborn or low, stinking rich or wallowing in debt, unless they proved in some way to rouse his own interest, he spurned them all.

It became so that he was immune to all manner of strategems and artifice and learned to recognise affectation in a look, a tone, a body movement.

It was not as if he could not have married before. He met women extremely capable of drawing him in- if he were so inclined. Handsome women, accomplished women, women of grace and pedigree. Women who tempted him and who had him sometimes wanting to yield to temptation. But always there had been some impediment. It was difficult to find a woman wholly unencumbered. When they came of rank, they came impoverished with little much else to recommend them. When they came with beauty, they came debt ridden and, more often than not, insipid. When they came with wealth, they were not just sometimes tainted, that was too mild. they were more often dipped, soaked, wrung out in the waters of the vulgar, the uninformed and the uncouth. When they came perfect, they came with a husband. But it was never something he lost any sleep over. Gaining a wife was an inevitability.

He had been a highly sensitive boy and as a man he was scarcely less so. Education gave him discrimination, wealth gave him the ability to be generous from high, status gave him pride. All three combined, created a fashionable, formidable, highly discerning man. That was how he was considered and _that_ was how he considered himself, until he encountered Elizabeth Bennet.

Through the example provided by his parents, he had learnt what it took be an admired and respected leader in their part of the world. One did not buy respect, fawning deference yes, but respect, true respect and admiration, one earned.

Elizabeth Bennet, now Elizabeth Darcy he knew, earned his respect, his gratitude, his esteem and his love.

As he walked away from the house, with these very proper and sometimes not so proper thoughts floating through his mind, he was unaware of the sight he presented and what his new wife saw. His handsome features greatly softened by a small smile and his upright tall figure never losing its ability to impress even in his 'almost' pacing. His impatience was tempered. He would wait for her for as long as it took. This he knew.

Suddenly he became aware of his useless activity by the sound of the gravel crunching under his boots. To give himself something to do, he walked around to check on the carriage to make sure everything was ready for departure. Stopping at the head of the lead horse, a fine black thoroughbred and one he used for hunting occasionally, he frowned as he fingered the rein.

"Martins" He called to his coachman, who was waiting under a one of the many tall beech trees at the side of the Longbourn drive, a natural separation between the road from the small park adjacent to the house. "Martins, I thought I had mentioned no overcheck reins on my horses."

"Aye, Master." Martins said, his northern accent thick with his annoyance as he scrambled to attention "Tis that lad again, Joe. The one who came from my Lord Matlock's Lon'on stables. Him as one that would put on them there bearing reins without thinking! I reckon I would have seen it again sir since I was to check it. 'Tis the first I've seen of it. He must have been thinking that you'd like to return to London fashionable-like sir. But no harm done I think."

Slightly irritated, Darcy, brushed aside the excuses.

"Nevermind whose fault it is. Take those reins off and gave the horses their head. I'll not be ruining any of Pemberley's horses for something as foolish as a fashion rein." Stroking the horses' muzzles again, Darcy spared a thought wondering at his carriage and four of Pemberley's finest horses. It had taken almost a week to ride them down to London to allow them to cover the distance well rested. But it meant the trip back north, when they eventually left London, with those horses would be just as long. By rights he should go post, but for once, for some unfathomable reason, in bringing his wife home, he wanted everything around him to be his- Pemberley's horses, Pemberley's head coachman, an understudy as well as two outriders, regulars on Pemberley's retainers. They were all collected, in various states of repose, laughing and heckling, familiar and friendly, all congregated at the Longbourn Drive. Had someone mentioned even a year ago, this particular outcome, no doubt he would have laughed.

His air was one of excitement but it was of a reserved sort. He felt somewhat cloaked in a sort of nervous energy, It was not a feeling easily described nor was it exactly comfortable. He recognised certain aspects, the signs of his lust for example. Yes, he desired his wife. He desired the woman that she was and he wanted nothing more than to give in to his desires. To bed her. To sink himself inside her. To feel that kind of closeness that he had yet to experience. Where he would give of himself without reserve and without fear and uncertainty, but most of all with complete and unyielding love.

But yet it was still so much more. He wanted so much from the night ahead and was afraid that his anticipation might be anticlimactic. Physically he was ready, mentally, he was uncertain. What if he embarrassed himself before he could even get the marriage consummated? What if it were too painful for her? What if he lost so much control over himself, he became insensible to her feelings? His anticipation was building and it was a bit disconcerting. It was the kind of feeling one got in observing the sky molding itself into a storm, apprehensive because of all the unknowns but excited because one knew that something magnificent and beyond one's ability to totally understand or control was happening. That was Elizabeth. She stirred up all of his passion and now all he wanted to do was to expend himself, totally and completely in her.

Such was the sight he presented as she stood inside the house observing him. Externally, his was a calm, controlled demeanour, but as she had watched him pace, it lay only as a shell of consciousness since she was only just beginning to read him, she felt certain that inside, inside his mind, he was a hyped-up mess of anticipation and energy.

At last she came out, followed by her family. He stood by quietly as she hugged her two remaining sisters, stopping to admonish them lightly with brief words.

He overheard her as she took one of her sister's hands. stopping to wipe the tears that fell from her eyes.

"Now, now Kitty do not cry so. I have not died. I am only married and you know it is resolved that I am to be the best and happiest of wives! I know that Lydia is gone and so are Jane and myself. But you are not alone. There is still Mary and mama. Just think, if you are a good girl papa might give you more pin money! You would like that I am sure. And then, if you are very good, I shall ask Mr Darcy for you to come and spend part of the season with us in Town."

He did not know what answer her sister Catherine made, but he observed the skittish glance in his direction. He could not help it if she was afraid of him. He knew, for Elizabeth's sake however, he would improve his manners to her family and had been doing so by degrees.

He observed her father as he was watching Elizabeth, his pride in her obvious. To Mr. Bennet, Darcy knew, she would forever remain his "little Lizzy."

The thought caused him to focus on his bride and he felt a surge of emotion flow through him- love, anxiety, nervousness, desire and admiration. He watched her as she moved with youthful confidence and exuberance. She was a young woman, filled with positive flowing energy, it was magnetic. He could hardly keep his eyes from her as his gaze minutely followed her features, becoming more enraptured the longer he looked. He felt his pulse speed up as she turned toward him, glancing at him, quickly catching his eyes and then averting her own. It was done ever so slightly, he almost missed it. She was at the same time shy and alluring, and for a man such as him, it was a maddening combination as he felt his senses cleave towards her.

When they had first met, _this_ behaviour from her, he never knew. This shy, enticing, alluring woman. She could still cut him to the quick with her wit but now it was tempered by the warm glow of love. He knew now what it was to feel her touch, hesitant and yet bold on his face. His eyes closed as she traced gentle fingers over his temple, his eyebrows, his jaw then his lips, startling her into a soft moan of surprise as he captured her fingers between them, tasting her, feeling her reach inside of him, sealing his heart to her.

It scared him, the depth of his feelings for her. He knew she loved him and her love for him served as the foundational reinforcing aspect of his love for her. But still, it was new and it scared him. It was the one aspect of his life he could never fully control. His feelings for her sometimes swooped down on him like a kite dipping frantically in a surge of wind, struggling to right itself until it was given the freedom of thread to lift off and yet still be controlled. He did not like the swooping, it felt strange, exhilarating, yet disquieting. There was nothing in this world so reckless, so wildly abandoning, so uselessly pulsating and yet so perfectly sublime as his love for Elizabeth. As he mused his fate while observing her, he knew he could never tire of watching her. Hers was ever a beguiling, bewitching countenance. The light of her fine dark eyes displaying expressions on her face he had long since come to adore.

He was soon pulled into the fray however, as his mother-in-law expostulated against him for taking Elizabeth to Derbyshire. "Who knows when I shall see my dear girl again?" She lamented.

He caught Elizabeth's eyes which clearly showed her amusement as he, very seriously and solemnly- he knew her also to be a bit afraid of him- took both Mrs Bennet's hands in his and assured her in the kindest manner possible, that she would always find a welcome at Pemberley. The mere mention of the estate proved the desired outcome, as all focus at the loss of her newly favoured daughter, re-centred on the son she had gained and of his great wealth, leaving her once again struck dumb by the thought.

Soon however, he reasserted himself, and with new activity, bustled his wife toward the carriage. She laughed at him causing him to relax. Unobtrusively he slipped his hand into hers as they walked away side by side. He glanced down at their entwined fingers and then into her eyes, meeting her startled look of pleasure with a hint of a smile as he squeezed her fingers and felt the slight answering return of her own. Silently he handed her into the waiting carriage, decorated with all manner of fripperies, and streamers, the horses' manes neatly plaited with garlands threaded through them announcing to the world that they were a couple newly and happily married.

"Thank you Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth said to him in a low voice, holding his gaze as she moved to sit and he knew her words were for more than just the simple gesture of performing the duties of a gentleman helping a lady into a carriage.

'It is my pleasure Elizabeth" he said inclining his head slightly, love and a smile in his looks.

One last time he turned to survey his new family as he walked forward to clasp his father-in-law's hand in parting goodbye. He felt the hand squeeze his in a firm grasp and he looked again at the man before him, searching him with his gaze. If it were he who was giving over the role of protector he would have wanted reassurance himself.

"You will take good care of my girl Mr Darcy?"

"With my life sir."

"Ahh, not with that, never with that" was the quick rejoinder. "Lizzy would never forgive me if I were to extract _that_ promise."

There was an awkward small moment, the expression of sadness on the older gentleman's face could not be brushed aside.

"I apologise Mr Bennet, but we must leave now- if we are to make London before nightfall."

"Yes, yes so you must. You must leave now. It is well that you leave now."

"Mr Bennet, I _will_ take every possible care of her." He briefly held his shoulder as he said it, such displays of feelings usually beyond him. But he wanted to let her father know that he understood.

"I know that you will Mr Darcy. Well then, off with you. I hope to see you both soon...but perhaps not _too_ soon." Mr Bennet noted as he stepped away to go to his wife. "A newlywed couple is never to be too soon visited. But, you must be on your way, I can keep you no longer. Get ye both to London town Mr Darcy!"

Darcy smiled at those words and hurried to fulfill the wish as his feet went faster than his mind could think, leading him swiftly into the carriage, vaulting one step up, toward the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**His Wedding Night**

 **Part II**

* * *

The carriage moved further and further out of the neighbourhood of Meryton at a pace that continued to ensure that it drew the eye. Slowly, it weaved its way through the main road that would continue south. Up ahead a long stretch of good road loomed before them tempting the coachman to pick up speed as he urged the matching black pairs through their paces at a quick trot. Suddenly, as if through conjuring, little boys and girls emerged out of the yards of quaint, pretty cottages. They moved excitedly after the decorated carriage, their small feet propelling them forward mindlessly as they ran shouting and laughing behind the carriage, scrambling after escaping streamers which danced in the wind before dropping to drape themselves like sleek, shiny tendrils around the trunks of trees or at the tops of tall grasses. Elizabeth laughed to see it and waved at them through the opened window, looking back at the sights she had seen all her life.

Darcy observed her in silent contemplation. It struck him then at how he had not stopped to consider it before. This place was her place, these people were her people. For himself, his sense of place was secure, as long as his family estates remained within the confines of his family, he would always remain rooted, secure, stable. But for Elizabeth, being uprooted was a natural expectation. And yet, she did not seem distressed, she seemed only excited.

"Are you not sad?" He asked on catching her eye after she had waved her last and turned again to compose herself inside the carriage.

"A little" she answered, surprised that he should have been considering her so. "But I really am too happy to contemplate sadness. Why do you ask?"

He paused before responding, "it has only just occurred to me that I am dislocating your life, uprooting you from all that is familiar and of comfort to you."

She smiled at him "that is very true. You have very willingly upset the rhythm of my life and... now I shall suffer." Her voice had dropped low and the air developed a tense sort of thickness inside the carriage that thrilled them both.

He gave her a smile "I shall not allow you to suffer greatly. As a matter of fact, I shall be endeavouring to ensure that life for you now will be filled with pleasure and joy." He looked at her directly "starting from tonight."

As had so often happened during their courtship, she coloured and glanced away, his meaning unmistakable, then she looked at him again and closed her eyes to his penetrating gaze before turning to look outside again. He bent his lips to her ear.

"Elizabeth..."

His pulse started thundering as she took his hand, his gloveless, unconfined hand that was connected to hers and brought it to her lips. He felt an epiphany then that sent his mind whirling as her lips descended again and again in silent reverence. This woman, _this_ woman was the most precious thing of value in his life. There was nothing, and no one in his life that he now valued more than her. No, not even Georgiana, who one day he hoped would experience being so loved by the man she married and...no, not even Pemberley. It struck him then that if he had to choose between Elizabeth his wife and Pemberley, his lands. He would always choose Elizabeth. Pemberley was the legacy he inherited, Elizabeth was the legacy he had yet to create. Should he, for some unfathomable reason be forced to be exiled, to be a refugee from his own lands, with this woman at his side, everything was surmountable. He watched her in a soft sort of daze.

"I feel you to be the man destined to be my husband." She said. "I know compared to many others, compared to the general suffering of the world and the struggles of many of those around us, we, you and I, we have not endured a lot. But I find I cannot console myself with that argument. For between us both, between you and me, there _was_ suffering and there _was_ despair. There _was_ heartache as well as remorse. I hurt you, you, the best of men, I hurt you. And though I know that it is one of life's maxims to endeavour to forget the hurt of the past to create future joy. I still find sometimes I am unresigned to the pain that I caused you. You tell me, Mr. Darcy, that you wish only pleasure and joy in my life and I say to you, _you_ are the source of _my_ pleasure and joy, just as surely as you may occasionally be the source of my pain."

Gently stroking the length of his fingers with her own, she looked at him, before turning to look outside again. Her voice continued still low.

"As young girls growing up, we were always being prepared for that one main object. That elusive goal which is the fate of every woman, at least of every genteel woman. That of marriage. Had my mother had her way, perhaps I may have been married long ago. But I have always wished for something more than just the idea of marriage. I wished for esteem, I wished for respect but more than that, I wished for a husband whom I could love unreservedly. One whom I could admire and regard, who I could look up to and have the very act of pleasing come easily and naturally. _You_ are that man and I have waited for you. From the very first moment..."

She brought his hand to her heart. "From the first moment I saw you, I felt this." Under the spread of his palm, just above the fullness of her breast he felt the racing of her heart.

"My heart knew, what my mind refused" She continued. "It knew that you were he."

By this time, his breath was warm on her skin behind her ear as he exhaled. His hand moved up, caressed her shoulders as his fingers glided up to the side of her face, turning her head gently to him. He felt the wetness of her tears, when they had fallen, he did not know.

"I thought you were too happy to contemplate sadness my love."

She smiled "these are happy tears." He brushed them away and pulled her closer into his body.

"I have been thinking a lot about what it means to have you as my wife."

"You mean in how easily you have acquired your life's tormentor." She asked, snuggling even closer to him.

"Yes, well that too. But I have always considered that it is far better to create a situation where your tormentor agrees to obey you than not." This was said with a bit of a smirk.

"Ah, well there is always that, and I will allow you your smugness. For I know it all to be merely a screen."

"A screen!"

"Yes, a screen. Never have I had the company of a man who so loved to be teazed as you do. Not even my own father can suffer me too long when I try to extract a dry wit or two too many from him." She was warming up to the subject now and her animation was exactly what he had sought.

"I ought to correct you and say that _that_ is only the case when I am a recipient of _your_ teasing. But who knows, maybe in time I may encounter more young ladies, scores of them even! Who possess the teazing touch, with whom all liberties with my person and character shall be theirs for the asking. Maybe, they would not even have to ask! I shall be so entranced, that I should go directly up to them and beg their indulgence to be teazed by them!"

"Hmmm, hardly a half a day married and already he is putting the concept of fidelity under the guillotine."

"This is to be an interesting marriage." He said, as he pulled her in closer. "Come now, I shall tell you a story."

"This ought to be good." She took a deep breath, inhaling the power of his clean scent, a masculine fragrance designed to entice and allure. She settled in and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"It _is_ good, it is how I came to recognise the value of true love. As a young lad, perhaps when I was about four - "

She laughed "I am sorry, but does Mrs Reynolds feature in this story?"

"Mrs Reynolds?!"

"Forgive me, it was just something I had heard during my visit to Pemberley. Pray continue."

At first laughing, Elizabeth then grew very thoughtful as she listened to her husband describe what was to him the defining relationship of his life.

"I never witnessed any more than I should have you know, with affection being sacrificed for propriety. But what I had seen was enough. Here were two persons who had conceived of a passion, an affection that outlived their lives. My father was a single man again, a widower, while still relatively young, barely forty. He could have remarried, I was the only son. Things could have happened, could have gone wrong. And things _did_ go wrong and yet still he never remarried and never, at least to my knowledge, did he ever dishonour the memory of my mother with other women."

His voice was even throughout most of it, but she sensed his control at the end.

"My father held my mother in deep affection, even when she had trouble conceiving a child he loved her. Had she only given him daughters, he would have still loved her. Had their union not even have produced any children, he was still prepared to love her. This was something he had spoken to me about. Sharing with me their stories on every anniversary of her death. If there were no me, no Georgiana either, the matter of Pemberley was to rest with his younger brother, my uncle the judge and _his_ sons. What I am saying Elizabeth is that I never wish you to forget that I chose _you_. I did not choose you for what you can give me or bring to me. Maybe at one point that had seemed important, but no longer. I chose you as the woman to share my life and be my wife. We may have children or we may not. Would I be glad for it? Of course! But even if there are no children, it would not matter with you in my life. I feel I can endure anything with you in my life."

Dark eyes met dark eyes.

As she lay sleeping peacefully beside him, Darcy wondered again at the turn his life had taken. At how, by a mere stroke of happenstance, he encountered the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. And it was a case of multiple happenstance too! But who was he to question providence? He lightly stroked her hair, relishing the privilege of being able to touch her as his wife. She stirred and opened her eyes and, still leaning against him, watched outside at the passing scenery. The setting sun was rapidly chasing their carriage to London and everywhere was washed in brilliant orange though it were only after three in the afternoon.

Sitting next to him, their fingers laced together under the blanket, both staring at the outside through different windows, he felt a tug and turning towards her was met by that arched eyebrow that he so loved.

"A kiss sir, if you please." She smiled at her own impertinence, her look was expectant.

'Where? Here?" he asked politely as he kissed her cheek

"No, I do not think so." She replied, slightly flushed.

"Perhaps here?" He questioned as he grazed her temple.

"Or maybe here?" he continued as he placed a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose.

She pouted, leaving him no choice but to squeeze his arms tightly around her while his lips brushed her own.

" Ah yes, I think it is here" He said against her lips, a smile forming.

"Yes" she breathe as he took her breath away.

* * *

Her grip in his hand tightened.

It may not seem like much but he sometimes forgot that he had eight years of life and experience on her. She, who was always so self-assured and confident, he forgot sometimes to recall that she could be vulnerable.

His hand on hers tightened as he imparted the reassurance that she sought.

The light from the two pavement gas lamps in front of the house allowed them to smoothly and quickly walk down the path and climb the stairs leading to the portico. Elizabeth escaped from his hold and, walking ahead hesitated before the formidable, elegant three storey building that was Darcy House, before turning to look at him. He threw her a kiss, so very out of character for him that she could not escape the charm of it and he was rewarded with the pleasure of her smile. On entering the house, he reached for her hand again in a natural motion, It was oddly endearing for him to observe her vacillate between an unconscious reserve and an equally detached hum of excitement. She had been raised to fulfill certain expectations and though he never expected otherwise, he was pleased to see his wife's gracious manner in greeting her new household. She was, as she had ever been, lively, courteous, interested and considerate. Now, much more comfortable, she willingly released him as she moved to clasp the housekeeper's hand in her own.

"Mrs Norris, my husband has spoken much of his appreciation for your intimate and exacting running of this household. And, as he hardly ever errs in his judgement," Almost imperceptibly she threw a glance in his direction as she said this with a hint of a smile, she continued smoothly "I am persuaded to follow his example. I feel certain that you and I will get along famously." She smiled as the housekeeper blushed and stumbled her response, embarrassed by the attentive praise.

Darcy's pride swelled as they walked down the line to echoes of "Welcome Mrs Darcy" "Thank you Mrs Darcy" " A pleasure to meet you Mrs Darcy.". The maids, from the upper chambers to the kitchen bobbed deep curtseys, the footmen bowed respectfully. They stopped finally at Mr Yeats the butler, who anchored Mrs Norris from the head of the line, to him at the foot of the line.

"This is my most trusted man Elizabeth, Derbyshire bred, but London equipped, my butler, Mr. Yeats."

"Sir," Yeats acknowledged, before facing the woman before him with a deep bow. "Welcome Mrs Darcy, to your new London home."

Elizabeth blushed with pleasure. 'I thank you Mr. Yeats. It is good to be here. To be home."

"Sir" Yeats said as he turned again to his Master. "Everything has been made ready, as you have instructed. Bellows has already seen to both your baths and should be awaiting you Mr. Darcy. Cook has just finished a light supper preparation to be served in the family dining room." He turned to Elizabeth "Only your maid remains Mistress. And two footmen to serve in the dining room. All other servants have been given early leave for today."

"Thank you Yeats. What I have forgotten, you have anticipated quite well." Darcy kept his eye focused on the butler because he was sure that an arched eyebrow was intelligently scrutinising his face. He struggled to keep his smile under check, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

No sooner had the butler disappeared around the corner than Elizabeth reached for his hand. Her fingers quick to separate and settle themselves between his.

"So, Mr. Darcy, you have thought of everything." She started to smile as she turned to look at him. but there was no mistaking his gaze now. Her breath was stolen as he held her hand over his heart with one hand and traced a finger along the neckline of her dress.

"You have no idea" he said, "how precisely a man can order things when he has been anticipating his wedding night for almost a year."

"Oh, I think I have _some_ idea." Was her tart reply. They both reached for each other and he felt there was nothing in this world more delicious than the sweep of Elizabeth's soft, answering lips.

* * *

Standing in front of the woman he had longed so much to be his, whose loss he had grieved. To have now discovered a love with her that so exceeded all that he could have imagined, Darcy suddenly felt himself overwhelmed and overpowered.

Symphonies could echo and bards could pen verses of ineffable emotion and still he knew they could never describe how he felt at that precise moment. In having this woman in his arms he experienced a completeness that was inexplicable. Softly he tilted her chin up to look at him and they stood looking at each other for a few moments. Slowly, he felt her arms slip around his waist pulling him towards her in a strong embrace. All was very quiet except for the crackling of the wood in the fire behind them as they stood enfolded in each other's arms.

"I love you" she whispered into his cravat. He held her tighter.

"You are _my_ Mr. Darcy."

"I am _your_ Mr. Darcy." He said with a smile as he bent to kiss the side of her cheek, allowing his lips to linger beneath her earlobe and then graze the sensitive area on her neck. "Always yours Elizabeth. You are my joy and my future."

"As you are mine. Promise me this, Fitzwilliam, if you can hold yourself to no other promise, that, come what may, we shall be always honest. I know that may be more easily made than kept. But It is what is most important to me...that we talk to each other openly. If nothing else, my love. I have learnt that."

"I _do_ promise that to you Elizabeth and willingly, and know that the same holds true for you. That you may come to me with anything, no matter how trite it may seem."

He smiled to himself as she nodded into his shirt. Never had she seemed more vulnerable than at this time.

"I should leave you now, we both have much to prepare for and I shall see you again shortly, because" he added with a certain light in his eyes, "we cannot be too long parted!" He picked up his waistcoat which had been unceremoniously deposited by his wife on top the bed and walked to the connecting bedroom door. As he turned the handle to open it she called to him.

"Fitzwilliam."

"Elizabeth?"

"I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?" Her words sent an odd type of electric elation into his heart, to know just how perfectly suited she was to him. He countered her repartee swiftly.

"As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as  
you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing."

She laughed aloud to hear him. "You, sir, make for a perfect Beatrice!" He smiled to himself as he made his way into his room, shutting the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- This chapter is very long, three times the average chapter length of stories posted here. But I didn't want to chop it, mainly because I like things in threes. I have a 'T' rating for this story because I don't think the sex in this last part is too graphic. But if you guys think it is, I'll slap an 'M' on it.

Update - Rating adjusted, was kinda hoping it would pass for ART but, no dice lol.

Enjoy!

* * *

I loved you first: but afterwards your love

Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song

As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.

Which owes the other most? my love was long,

And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

And loved me for what might or might not be –

Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.

For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine;'

With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done,

For one is both and both are one in love:

Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine;'

Both have the strength and both the length thereof,

Both of us, of the love which makes us one.

(Monna Innominata- I Loved You First) - Christina Georgina Rosetti, circa 1880

 **His Wedding Night**

 **Part III**

* * *

Who can pretend to know the workings of a man's mind as he gains that which he has always wanted? Many men want many different things and they work towards gaining it. Some men are driven by ruthless ambition. Some, by absolute necessity. Some, by securing the comfort of others, think that their altruism gives them the right to have this or that particular thing. Who knows how the act of claiming what was long desired is to be effected? What is certain however, is that if a man wants something he values and expends certain effort in obtaining, he will not only recognise its worth, but he will want more and more of it. And that is how it was to be with Fitzwilliam Darcy. Though he did not then know it.

In the few moments of leaving her room and closing the door behind him. even while he smiled, even while he still could hear the muffled sounds of her voice and movements, an unreal sensation overcame him. It made everything around him seem like a dream. The air suddenly felt more constricted, he felt suddenly confined and, walking to the window, he opened it. Standing where he was, looking out at the vast dimness of the English capital he thought about the place it was, and the role it had in his life that he had always taken for granted. It was not the first time he had experienced the view and it was also not the first that he had wondered how he had come to be here.

Once, as a young boy he had violently thrown a copy of The Canterbury Tales away into a corner of the library, right here in this very house. He had done it in frustration and thought he was alone, but his father had opened the door just then and witnessed his temper. He had said not a word as he went and picked the abused text from off the floor. He had looked at it, looked at his son, replaced it on the shelf and then walked out without another word.

Young Darcy had thought the matter quite forgotten and therefore was shocked into a sort of stupor a few hours later when the upper maid informed him that his father requested his presence in the study. As he made his way along the darkened corridor it had felt like the longest walk of his life. His leadened feet weighed his spirit down in fear as his terror increased. He imagined all sorts of horrors as, belatedly, he started to wonder at the value of the book. By the time he entered his father's study his heart was racing and he was trembling. He closed the door behind him and faced the formidable wall that was his father who stood with his back towards him in front the fireplace.

"Have a seat Fitzwilliam."

He complied immediately, observing the rigidity of this father's back, inwardly wincing as he saw the physical droop of his shoulders and heard a sigh as he turned to him. Without preamble his father started speaking.

"What you did Fitzwilliam, the act of it was very wrong. I will have you know immediately that it was very wrong. No son of mine should be allowed to display that sort of temper to cause harm to anything. Whether it be animal, another human being or even with, as you did, a book. You are a gentleman's son, not a brigand. You are expected to behave in a manner consistent with consideration and compassion. Not unruly and uncouth. I will not abide such behaviour. Am I understood?"

Ashamed for the displeasure and disappointment he saw etched on his father's face, the son could not bring himself to meet the father's eyes. But a bit of petulance allowed a fleeting moment to cross the young boy's mind to argue that if that were really so, then George Wickham should be facing a lot of punishment. But he quelled the urge to distract his father and he nodded agreement to his words in silence.

With a softened expression, Mr. Darcy walked to stand directly in front his son and continued.

"I have been thinking of how to punish you. But you are generally such a good lad, I thought it best to give you the opportunity to tell me what motivated you to do such a thing." He felt the hand clasp his shoulder "I would have you speak son."

There was a silence as each assessed the other. Taking a breath the young master spoke.

"I was frustrated father, I- I could not comprehend some of the words." He stopt, expecting what he had said to be enough.

His father frowned "did not Mr. Halcroft give you enough instruction before he left to visit his sister?"

'Yes, he did. But I do not really go to him to read Chaucer."

There was a curious hitch in his voice that he did not recognise as his own.

"I usually go to mother."

Ahhh. _There lies the problem._ His father looked at him again.

"And you could not go to her because of her confinement?"

Not meeting his father's eyes, fearful of the tears that suddenly threatened, he nodded again. There he was a stolid little boy, trying to be a man. As he sat there struggling to master himself, what compassionate, amiable father could be unaffected?

Without a word the father sat on the sofa and drew his son into his arms.

"I do not believe I told you Fitzwilliam, what the doctor had said. You were told only that your mother was not to be disturbed. But your new sibling is expected within the next week. I feel well certain that the week following, your mother should be well enough for you to disturb her with your Squire's Tale to your heart's content."

Smiling down at his son, he roughed up his hair. "But come, perhaps I can be of use. Let us discuss Chaucer and include some other studies as well. Geography - How far do you think Canterbury's Cathedral is from Rosings Park? Arithmetic - if you travel at this speed by carriage from London to Kent, how long should it take you to get there? And conversely, how long would it have taken Chaucer's pilgrims, who walked?"

As they engaged in a light-hearted discussion, his father became serious again and related their ancestry in a totally new light and in a way that stayed with him.

"Do you know Fitzwilliam, that there was a Darcy at court when Chaucer was in service in the mid-fourteenth century? Come let me tell you about him, he who was the fifth generation of our direct Norman line. When you truly _read_ son, you may find that you learn much more than just language and literature in the reading. You learn about places and people, of lives and culture, of why Britain is great and predestined to always be so. And even about whom you are a direct descendant and how you came to be here. When next you speak about the matter to your mother, she will be very surprised."

Getting into the spirit of the thing, a long discussion ensued where Darcy had found out a lot more of what he should already have known. He learnt a lot, and not merely from his father's instruction. He had gained much more insight into the man who was his father, whose manner of explaining and connecting ideas stayed with him. The night also stayed with him, because he was never able after to discuss his revelations with his mother.

* * *

Letting out a soft sigh as a wave of sadness washed over him. Darcy felt again the hollowness, the emptiness of the loss of his parents who were no longer part of his life. He missed his mother, of course. But to be sure, for being a much more constant presence and influence in his life, especially in his later years, he missed his father the most. Where once there had been a feeling of comfort and familiarity that he had taken for granted and thought would always have been with him, now there existed only silence.

"What would I have not given father, for you to have met Elizabeth?" He said aloud as he stared out into the darkness of the night. He knew instinctively that his father would have loved her. Yes, he may have railed against him, lectured him on their place and position, given his ears a good airing on rank and station. Arguments heard before and used before even by himself. But in the end, he knew his father would have loved her, just as he did.

Slowly he let out a long deep breath, unaware of his hands pressing down on the cold surface. If anyone from the outside were to see him now, a shadowy, lonely form, marked out clearly against the backdrop of the lighted bedroom behind him, they might have sketched his life to be one of misery. And yet the reality of it was that the joy he felt in his life at this moment was the most he had ever experienced. A type of heartfelt delight that emanated through his very being. Moreover, the source of that joy lay in a room, a mere ten feet away from him.

Thoughtfully he ran his palm over the smoothly mortared stone. The coolness was reassuring. He was glad for this place, this home that was his Georgian London castle. For many years it had been his own personal refuge and sanctuary. Of the last two generations, _he_ had been the Darcy who had used this home the most. It belonged more to him than to his father. For many years it had been opened all year, not just the season. He had used it as his base from University, he had been fully established at this house for many years while his father ran Pemberley. Other men had embarked on the _Grand Tour_ , he had embarked on the _Grand London_.

He fingered the walls again with feeling, just as he had the thought earlier of how he had uprooted Elizabeth, the thought of his being able to provide such a home for her was one of solace and appeasement.

Looking outside he observed, as if for the first time, the manner in which the rows of brick and stone facades created a fine line, displaying the best architecture the Georgian era afforded. They were buildings that all bespoke wealth and privilege - tall, imposing structures, well designed and laid out. Each subtly trying to outdo the next.

He wondered now at the lives within. Were the hearts located there, as happy as his now was? Or were they conflicted, confused, tormented by vacuous spectres of what could have been? Were they trapped by the trappings of wealth or able to see, as he had been forced to do, that riches came in a variety of forms and that life was too fleeting to not attempt to gain true happiness or know true love?

For himself he knew that his love was strong and had stood firm, the bard's ever-fixed mark. But her love also had grown in powerful leaps, overpowering him in expression and weakening him in its intensity. Falling in love had all been so very tenuous. _He_ was in it before he knew what he was about. He could not recall a moment when he had not always loved her. Even before he met her, he felt he loved her because she was the total embodiment of the woman he _knew_ he could love.

Even from the very first moment he observed her, when he had rejected her out of hand, he had waited to meet her eye, He had wanted to convey to her, _yes, you are attractive, and yes, I will look at you. But I am not for you. You are less than I am._ Now, looking back at it, he saw his stupidity for what it was. The vain idle conceit of an arrogant, misguided fool. He had exemplified, to the one person in the world whose opinion had come to have real value with him, the type of man that he himself inherently condemned.

He smiled to himself as small flashbacks of all of their exchanges crossed his mind. Memories from when he really started to observe her. Started to take note of the warmth of her smile. When he had first caught himself at the sound of her laughter that drew his eye and would draw it so often to her that he had to will himself consciously to stop looking at her.

It was unknown to him when he had come to admire the slight tilt of her head as she attended to the conversations of others, nor could he recall the exact moments he first felt the fleeting shots of jealousy that passed through him at the lively gentlemen who were the recipient of her easy conversation and friendly regard. He only realised that he did those things, _when_ he realised. It had been all unconscious endeavour. He guessed that was the point really when he fell in love. When his mind became so full of Elizabeth Bennet that he could not think clearly. From the observing, then attending, then admiring, then adulating, then obsessing, the path of love had played havoc with his being. It consoled him now to think that while their love was not perfect, it was real. Built on real affection and regard. It took her upbraiding of him to have him reach that point of honest appreciation for the woman that she truly was.

He had not automatically thought it, but over the course of time, he came to see how despicably he had acted, not only to her but to so many others. And, even if deep down he had recognised the injustice in her words, he could not deny the justice of them either. It was only at that moment when he was at his lowest, where his thoughts and actions were for her welfare and happiness only, without any thought to what his own heart desired, only at that point of selflessness, did he really comprehend the true meaning of what it was to love another.

She taught him a lesson that was hard enough. But it was difficult only because it was a life lesson in which there were no examinations save those that existed in his conscience.

So much of his life had existed on the belief of values. Values which he thought only required his having unfettered access to them, to make putting them into practice a foregone conclusion. He had always believed himself the epitome of a gentleman and knew that others held him to be so. But now, in hindsight, he had come the recognise the many opportunities where he had failed to apply the principles that marked him as an honourable man. It was a bitter pill and the heartbreak had hurt all the more for it knowing that she had sketched his character so thoroughly, even when based on mistaken premises.

He listened hard again, as if to confirm that it _really_ was her in the next room, somehow he was starting to feel nervous. The London rain however, making itself known, sent him back into the room as he pulled down the sash window behind him, Forced out of his reflections, Darcy started to attend to his person, tugging at his cravat in mild irritation. His valet's knocking saw him halfway across the room heading to the door, before it was quietly opened. He spoke on the instant. His voice a harsh whisper.

"Bellows, there you are. Come in man! Come in! This - " he said, pulling at his cravat "cannot seem to come off, undo it man and quickly!'

Sighing in relief as his man made quick work of it, Darcy gave his valet a wry look rubbing his neck thoughtfully. "Of all that was ever invented to keep a man warm, I swear this is the most cumbersome."

His valet only nodded as he folded the offending neck cloth. His master was in a strange mood, one he could only mark down as nerves. Not a wholly unexpected occurrence on this, the first night of marriage.

Speaking more to himself, Darcy continued.

"I feel like I should be making a lot more preparations. A drink, I need a drink!" He said this as he walked over to a side table and poured a heavy drink of brandy fortifying himself before giving his valet another look "whoever said that a man must simply go to his wife on his wedding night is a confounded fool!"

His servant watched him in some amusement.

"But you ought to be preparing sir, your bath..."

"Yes, yes my bath...I ought to be washing, focusing on certain areas. I ought to be perhaps using some tooth powder, preening my person and donning my nightshirt. Yes, i know all that. But surely there is more. It is _the_ night, there must be more." Darcy said this a little louder that he intended.

"Forgive me Bellows, I just wish- I just wish I knew more precisely how to proceed with this night. There are some questions I wish I could get easy answers for. Life prepares you for many things it seems, but for _some_ things the preparation is in the actual experience. If only I had a sort of template with which to go on."

"You ought not to wish for a template sir, then your wife would not be your first wife."

Smiling at his valet's cheek, he concurred with a smile. "Yes, yes no template. god I am glad she is not around to hear me say that. I should have been the source of her amusement for days - I just wish perhaps that I could have spoken to my father about this - I wish I had more of my father's wisdom on such matters."

The valet, observing his master compassionately, hesitated briefly before saying. 'I could not substitute for a father sir, but I can offer what small advice I own in my possession. If, of course, you wish to hear it."

At his master's nod he continued.

"Having been married these ten years past. In a marriage of true affection I might add, I know that at this point, perhaps more than any other, a woman needs to know that her role in a man's life is not one of intrusion. That she is a welcome and permanent inclusion. Not a mere convenience. Wives, they like for us to display our regard and show them our love. It costs nothing and they expect it, especially when affections are mutual. They like to be held and they should be held. They like to be soothed and they should be soothed. My own father once told me that a man can show affection to the woman he loves as much as he wishes. As men, we operate from the predictable position of security with our lady loves. _We_ are the ones who can inflict as much harm or as much good we wish. Nothing much changes when we marry. We carry on the same, except now we are granted the responsibility of another person. Yesterday you were Mr. Darcy. Today you are Mr. Darcy and the gods' willing tomorrow you will rise again to be Mr. Darcy. But for your wife, it is different. Yesterday, she was Miss Bennet, today she is Mrs. Darcy. It is a role she has never met with and one that she will likely have to accustom herself. Tonight will be a much more challenging night for women than us men. They have given up almost everything to be with us. We are now their main, almost their sole form of dependence. It is a transition for both, but for women, it is more. At least that is what my father said... and my wife, sir, agrees."

Bellows gave a small chuckle here that drew Darcy's smile. Not too far in the distant past he might have felt somewhat askance at the liberty and familiarity of the speech.

Contemplating his valet, a man who had been in his service since he had reached his majority and of whose background he had thought he know much but now realised that what he had known was precious little. It seemed to Darcy that his recent penchant for learning would benefit from the advantage of allowing different perspectives from unusual quarters.

Uncharacteristically however, at that moment he felt himself comfortable enough to continue the conversation.

"I understand you Bellows. I do. Thank you. It is a great change is it not? To be married. One does not always think of women as wives. That is, as one's own wife. Of course, every woman we know exists in the context of a man, even if that man is no longer around. That is Mr. So and So's daughter. That is the sister of Mr. A or Mr. B's cousin or Mr. C's young niece. Then the woman gets married and ceases all of those and becomes Mrs. A, B, C or in this case D. I never thought I would have met a woman I actually wanted to take as a wife. I never thought I would ever meet anyone good enough, or remarkable enough to be honest. But then, I did and that is not something one is ever fully prepared for."

Moving in front the long standing mirror next to the bath screen, Darcy gave himself the critical eye.

"When my father was alive Bellows, he granted me all manner of freedoms and I took full advantage. For a while I lived a life unencumbered and free - right here in London- existing on an independent allowance and a name. And it sufficed. For a while I had the life that most men aspire to and few achieve. But it did not last very long. Even before the responsibilities I faced when my father died, I knew a life free from restraint and responsibility was not for me. I had seen, from much too close quarters, the result of such a life and it was not what I wanted for myself."

He breathe out sharply.

"And the society! I love London. I do. It is such a vibrant, active city, so small and yet so vast and varied, but the society is sometimes filled with such dissipation and vice. One wonders sometimes if people even recall that we are a country at war. It is good that people do not even recognise the pinch of war because, as every foreigner says, everything is so taxed upon that we hardly notice. From the time an Englishman awakes in the morning to when he drops asleep at night, everything around him is taxed -his food, his activities, his house, his lands, the road he travels, the carriage he drives, down to the candle he might use to make his way to the privy at night. So people, especially those of my station, they do not notice - in a general sense. But like a prescient knowledge of foreboding future, they do all they can so that they would never _**have**_ to notice. It is easy to turn to men like me. Easy target they think. They see me and they see the security of my money, money that is hard earned and even harder kept. They see the value of my connections, they see my ancestral past. Hardly do they see me the man."

"I fear you underestimate yourself in that regard sir."

Darcy gave his man a rueful smile.

"Perhaps, But you know how it has been for me Bellows. It did not take very long for the fawning, grasping, clinging desperation of match makers to emerge. Like leeches on my person, fat with their perceived understanding of my perceived approbation. They could not know that they offended me with their deceitful, hypocritical deference, their innate insipidity and ludicrous assumptions. Perhaps I am too rough in my judgement, too harsh. Indeed my wife might say that she knows that I am. But that has been my experience. I think it will change, with such a woman as her in my life, it is bound to change - This way of how I generally interact and view others- I see it happening already. But that has merely increased her value and worth as a person and as a woman in my eyes. My wife - she is - a different sort of woman. She never sought my approbation. Nor my wealth. You know the lengths women would go to gain my interest. That is not vanity, that is the unembellished truth. My wife - " He stopped, realising how many times he had said those two words and how much he relished saying them. "My wife, yes, she is not like them really, truly a different kind of woman."

On that note Darcy became silent, suddenly recalling himself as master. Speaking with a touch of awkward embarrassment he added, "I am glad we had this talk Bellows. I owe you my gratitude. You have reminded me why I should never have held anxiety for tonight. That it _is_ in fact, the ultimate blessing on my person to be the one sharing this night with her. Thank you. Now, if you will. I do believe I am well able to handle everything from hereon. You may retire and leave the clothing on the bed, I will see to myself."

Bellows nodded, adjusting the clothes that he had started laying out. As he was about to turn the doorknob to exit however, he paused and looked back at his master.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes Bellows?"

"If I may say Sir, a better mistress you could not have chosen."

"Thank you. no I could not. She is the best of women." Darcy acknowledged with a smile. "The very best of women." He repeated softly to himself.

* * *

On re-entering his wife's chambers, Darcy stopped short. It appeared her maid had left her to her own devices for quite a while after seeing her prepared.

 _Or did I really stay so long in coming back to her?_

Elizabeth was busying herself in front of the fireplace, unaware that he had stepped into the room. As she sat at a small writing desk which had been moved closer to the grate, he wondered fleetingly if she had moved it herself. It would not have surprised him. His experience with her thus far had presented him with a woman as independent as she was stubborn, able to express herself in any amount of unorthodox ways.

He stood silently at the door observing her as she poured over a manuscript under the combined light of an overhead sconce and the fire. Her long hair, free from all restraint, which was a first look for him, reflected the soft light in shimmering waves as she dipped her head in concentration. He stood for some time engrossed in watching her before clearing his throat, quietly announcing himself.

She looked up, her eyes expressive as they directed surprised pleasure at him.

"Mr. Darcy!"

"Am I to think that you have found other means to divert yourself this night Elizabeth?" His gentleness of voice made her blush.

 _Lovely, just lovely_. His smile could not stop.

Even had he wished it he could not stop the pleasure he gained from looking at her. She arched her eyebrow at him in a look that caused his heart to lurch forward and resume a frenetic pace. It was an intense feeling, replete with knowledge of her power and the mastery over him. Where once he had fought, had collapsed under weight of the powerful emotions she created in him. Now he found that the barest look or thought spoken aloud or action from her created an intense passionate attention within him, that, try as he would, he just could not ignore. He relished the sensation, the prolonged anticipation, the feeling of his life being suspended and full and _complete_.

He continued looking at her as she rose and silently placed everything away into the concealed draws of the desk. Then she came toward him, blushing again as she could not help but notice how he admired her movements. Stopping in front of him and reaching for his hands, she stroked his fingers lightly. Her skin glowed with the warmth of the fireplace, and for a moment he was lost in the resonating darkness of her eyes as they reflected the flickering flames of the fire.

"You may think that, certainly, my love. That I am in need of diversion. But as I am now your wife who owns the right to correct your every misapprehension, and set you on all the appropriate paths. I will tell you. I had been putting my thoughts on this night on paper, so that years from now I may look back and smile and even laugh at myself."

"You expect to be amused?" A slight note of dismay crept into his voice, he felt her hands tighten on his.

"I expect, dear husband that while not expressly amused, you would have me laugh and smile in those moments that may otherwise prove to be daunting. I was, I found, exceedingly nervous before you came. So much so that self-chastisement came easily. But then I reasoned- you are a man as kind as you are handsome and as tender as you are generous. I wanted to be able to look back and laugh at how silly I was being and recall all the reasons why you have made me the happiest woman in this world." On this last, her voice had dropped to almost a whisper as, eyes averted, she blushed, then coloured even deeper as she lifted her eyes to hold his gaze.

What man could withstand those words? What man could withstand the offer of love so purely given from the woman he loved? Not Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Taking her hands in his, he held them to his heart. The tender emotions that he had long held so deeply for her, betrayed themselves, especially now that he sensed her need for reassurance. She was normally a confidently relaxed and ever impertinent woman. But tonight, tonight was vastly different. She seemed so shy, so suddenly demure to be alone with him. Gone was the woman whose tongue could whip him into all manner of frenzy, the woman filled with bravado and independence. Now, standing before him, was an offer of innocence; hesitant to meet his eyes, uncertain as to his response.

He felt his heart overflow with an almost painful, indescribable feeling. This certainly was the path of men set on earth - To each find a woman, a mate, a lover and cleave onto them. The lover in him cleaved onto her, unrestrained, without reserve, without hesitancy. It was exhilarating.

Never at any point in his life had he ever felt so unshackled, so free to do just what he wished to.

He wanted to love this woman with everything that he was, and she wanted him to.

He wanted to pour out his very soul into her, and she had prepared herself to receive him.

As she moved to him, unsure and uncertain, he caught her arm and drew her into his body. It was a deep and searching hold. He was aware of all points at which her body touched his. He felt the changes in her, in her posture as her hands travelled up and down the back of him, slowly at first, then with the seductive confidence gained through the heartfelt expression of the certainty of his love.

Nothing was said between them. Indeed nothing _could_ be said at such a moment. And yet, at the same moment everything was spoken. At that exact moment Elizabeth learnt that she was the centre of his universe. Their silence was rich with the unspoken - that she was here, experiencing from the first, the truest sentiment of utter love and devotion. Encircled by the warmth of her man, her lover, her protector, she recognised not only her power but also his vulnerability. Her hold tightened on him as his tightened on her. In his heart he knew that for her whole life she would have him. And, unlike the fleeting decades of the love and care of those who had nurtured him before, he desperately hoped their lives together would be a long one.

She looked up at him then, and the warmth of her look, aided by the sweetness of her countenance so undid him that he could not resist touching his lips to hers. His lips followed hers as she threw her head back to give him access to more of her. And he took it, reaching to taste all of her. But it was not enough, it was never enough as he moved back to cover the sounds of her moans and her pleasure. Lips and tongue and teeth met and fought, scorching each other and themselves. Branding each other and themselves. Never had he known such passionate wild abandon.

His brain then shouted for him to pause, to slow down and reduce the flames of the ever burning embers.

Softly he met the contours of her face with his lips, dwelling with gentleness on her eyebrows before a surge of quieted passion took hold as he dipped himself down to meet sensitive points already long discovered just behind her earlobe. The exploration of which seemed ever to make her melt and grow limp in his arms as her very spirit bent and quivered to the blood pounding tracks of his lips. Breathing heavily, he barely caught hold of his desire as he rose again to skim her throat, finally resting deep and quieting kisses just above the fullness of her breasts. Slowly he straightened and drew her close, holding her into his body as his arms tightened reflexively. While still somewhat surreal to think of her as his own wife, he was very firmly aware of the vast pleasures that awaited him because she _was_ his own, dear sweet wife.

"Fitzwilliam" she whispered in that manner that was an exulted combination of shyness and sensuality. There was an edge, a tone to her voice that fired his pulse. Suddenly she pulled away from him.

"I have something for you my love" she went to her dresser and pulled open a recently filled draw.

Taking out a small, finely carved box she presented it to him with a smile. "It belonged to my great grandfather and it is part of the Bennet personal property. My father asked me to give it to you."

He gave it a dubious look. "Whatever it is, it should pass on to our first son undoubtedly, should we have one."

"No, he was very specific. It is yours. You are to have it. It is yours he said, like I am yours. Keep it, guard it and when it breaks, as it would perhaps do, lovingly restore it. Those were my father's words Mr. Darcy."

She looked at him in anticipation as he slowly opened the box, curious now to know what it contained. On opening, he stared at the contents for a long moment, Many different feelings washed over his body. It was in fact the most handsome item he had seen ever created for a man. A gentleman's watch of remarkable quality. He had never before seen the like.

Taking it out carefully, he surveyed it, marveling at the detail. As rich as his family was, he doubted that any man attached to it had ever owned such a timepiece.

"There are few things that expresses individuality in a man my love. A finely carved walking stick perhaps, cared as much for sentimentality as for being practical. A pipe, should he have that inclination and this, a watch. Did your father never use it? It is, I would think, in almost the same pristine condition as when it was first bought." He laid it out in his palm as his fingers passed over the exquisiteness of the elegant details.

"It is Swiss of course, but more than that it was made by the very best Swiss master watchmaker, in the twilight of his life," She said this as she slipped a finger between his to touch the watch.

"I have seen it only on two occasions. Once, my father had taken it out when I was about seven, to show it to me and to warn me against ever taking it out. I never knew why he had done that, I was a model child." He gave her an incredulous look which was dutifully ignored as she rolled her eyes.

She touched the watch again.

"The second time I saw it was when he had taken it out to inspect not long after our engagement. He had called me to look at it and then informed me of what he had wished to do. I was very surprised, as was my mother. But for once he made his desires very clear. Without a son, he would give it to a son-in-law. He had said something about how he chose the tallest." She looked at him in amusement.

"I am absolutely certain that that was his reasoning and that it had nothing to do with _favourite_ child, or _most_ _favoured_ daughter or any daughter who is thought to be most like himself." Darcy said as he absently stroked her hair as it fell down her shoulders.

"Nothing at all" he said again as he dipped his head to kiss her exposed shoulder.

He felt her body tremble.

"It was - It was commissioned by my great grandfather who had a close acquaintance at the British attache there who was the means of acquiring it. He never wore it however - or so my father says - since he died rather young. It was passed to my grandfather while he was a boy. And he so grew accustomed to not ever having it, that, when he was of age to use it, he merely put it away for his son. My father wore it only once I believe, for his wedding and never since. So yes, I believe it is as new as the day it was bought. It is also custom made. There is not another like it in the world. It is what my father would have given to his son, should he have had one. Now, he has given it to you."

She was quiet as she allowed what she said to sink within him and then, to lighten the mood she tossed him a mischievous look. "And you thought I came into this marriage with nothing."

He had gotten very quiet at this point, quiet and more than a bit overwhelmed. Everything about the gift touched him. From the fact that it was from her father, meant for a son he never had. To its symbolised meaning of the man having given to his care, a very precious gift that was part of his legacy. To the uniqueness of the piece itself. He had no doubt that Darcy men to follow would wear this timepiece on their person as the tangible value of their Bennet heritage. He was more touched than he let on.

"I shall treasure it always." He said, bereft of finer words to convey his feelings.

"I know you shall, you would not be you if you did not." She said this softly, as she came close to him again.

Pausing just long enough for the impulsive thought to take hold of him, he replaced the watch into its box and placed it on the dresser behind her. Then, without preamble, sliding his arms around and under her, he lifted her off the ground. Her laugher tickled his ear with pleasure as he swept her along to the bed.

Pushing through the canopied curtains she let out a little shout as he threw her down upon it. They were both laughing. Then he stopped, his face grew serious once more as his eyes searched hers.

Impulsively she said "I love you". His reserve cracked and to his intense shame he felt tears well. Tears she saw.

They were now sitting next to each other on the large four poster bed and without a word she moved to lie down and drew him with her as she cradled his head on her breast and felt the drops of his silent tears. It was a short moment however, as he rested kisses where his tears had fallen. They had been tears for a time long since past when he had had to think of a life without her. Never had he felt more thankful than at this moment. His kisses grew more potent and soon the rapidity of her breathing and the conviction of his own arousal made him aware of all other needs.

A thousand thoughts rioted through his mind as he moved to lie next to her, half raising as to be upon her yet, not.

He looked at her again and was surprised to see her own eyes with tears, and his face must have registered surprise when, impulsively, she held his face and kissed him.

"Elizabeth." He whispered against her lips "My love." He heard her moan softly, protesting, as he gently, pulled away. He looked at her again, and was struck as much by her innocence as her beauty. Her eyes were closed and her breathing deep. He trailed fingers over her exposed skin and marveled a the sight of the muscles of her body twitching and moving in surprised craving anticipation, wherever he lingered. Cursing himself silently, he wrestled himself for control. This would not be rushed.

Sitting up on the bed, he pulled off his nightshirt revealing the hard leanness of his back to her. He sensed then that she had opened her eyes, he could feel her look boring into his skin, burrowing into his soul. Then he felt the coolness of her palms, as she lifted herself up and sat behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was a different embrace from others she had shared with him. Those were sometimes furtive and controlled- the embraces of courtship with only the promise of desire. This was desire itself.

It felt as if she owned him, that here was a place where he belonged. Leaning back, he relaxed against her and closed his eyes at the sensation of warm sweet lips burning their way through a torturous path across his body. Turning his head slightly as she brushed against his ear, he let out a soft moan as she fondled his neck. When he turned again she had reached the soft edge of his lips. There was no reserve when their lips collided.

Desire was beating through all parts of his body, creating a maddening lust as their lips met again and again, harder and more forceful, while their breathing became more erratic. CONTROL his mind screamed at his traitorous body. His fingers slowly released their hold on her shoulders as he willed the desire away, when, little by little, the kiss was gentled.

Softly caressing her face, his gaze rested on her most surest weapon. Four weeks ago he had been moved by those lips to press her up against a tree, never losing their point of contact, she had never been kissed before, she had said. And he was glad for it because he felt sure that had she known the power that lay dormant between the soft, intoxicating sweetness of her lips, she would have been lost to him before he had known that she ever existed!

He admired the shape of them, the smoothness of them, the impertinence of them as she brazenly looked at him while he looked at her, as if asking if he liked what he saw. He knew well how those lips felt, how they moved, but, above all he knew how they revealed things that she seemed to never be able to find the words to articulate. Her lips had a remarkable way of conveying her want of him, her need of him. As he looked at her, unconsciously he licked his own lips. A small gesture but one suggestive of many things nonetheless. Slowly and with great deliberation, as she was lying looking up at him in silent and subdued excitement that belied her trepidation, he started to undress her, first with his eyes but then, in real.

He traced a finger from her collar bone to the softness of the area under the neckline of her dressing gown. And he did it slowly.

"Elizabeth, do you love me?"

"Yes" she replied behind closed eyes, her body trembling at his touch even as she smiled. Her skin was flushed however, and her voice had come out as barely a whisper.

"Do you trust me?" He said this as he undid the silk sash of her dressing gown. Happy were his eyes to see that she had worn nothing underneath. With surprising ease he slipped it off her body.

He felt her shiver as he ran a finger between her breasts and down to her navel. With great deliberation, he rested his palm on her belly. Reveling in the seductive power, he felt her hips rise naturally to meet his hand again and again, as he lifted it teasingly from her body. His own body trembled as she slid her hand over his shoulder and then into his hair.

"Yes" Her reply had been like a soft moan.

With great reverence he placed kisses on her breasts, They were full breasts designed to fit in the palm of his hand. They were firm breasts designed to bring him to the fullest of attention. He covered them with kisses and playfully bit the centres. Gently, he tested the weight of her breast, one after the next in his palm, fascinated as he observed them being covered by a deep flush. _These are the fountains for my children, but not too soon. I wish you be all to myself for as long as can be_.

He smiled at her tightly shut eyes.

"You are not afraid to let me love you, my love?"

She smiled then, at how perfectly polite he was.

"No, fear deserves no place in my heart to-night."

Her voice had hitched as his fingers drifted lower down her belly, teasing that area that created a longing in him the likes never before witnessed. He slipped his fingers lower. Her eyes flew open, burning into him with an intensity he had never seen in her. Her breathing grew deep and erratic as his fingers made a sure, purpose-led, downward descent. And then he felt her, all of her. He felt her open up to him like the soft petals of an orchid, with a delicate sweetness. A maddening sweetness. He wished nothing more than to take her, feel himself surrounded by her. Looking at her, he brought his finger back up to her lips, passing it deliberately over the suppleness of her surest weapon. Then he made himself her target. As his mouth covered hers he could not help his moan as the taste of her sweetness made him weak.

It was a night that he could never choose to recover from, so precious were the memories. As a man, just seeing the shadows on the wall weaving and dancing as they moved together, seduced him. Never would he forget the warm glowing rays of sconces and candles as they bounced off their bodies, shimmering and making all ethereal. It was night filled with heated whispers and punctuated laughter, with sounds of kissing and moans of desire. They were at times two persons morphed into many then magically merged into one. Never could he forget the taste of her sweat drenched skin, alive to his touch, their mercurial naked bodies on a bed; shifting, writhing, straining, against each other- at once hot and sweating, then suddenly cool and exhausted.

Never would he not now know the trembling of her legs before he was wrapped up between them, the teasing pulse behind her knee that he discovered with his mouth, the deep colour of her lips, swollen with his kisses or the feel of her finger nails pressing into his back in reckless, mind-blowing abandon.

Never would he forget, that first look of surprise on her face as he held her eyes, his body teasing its way into hers. He entered slowly and saw her catch with a sudden pain as a frown etched itself on her beautiful face and he could go no further, forcing him, upon her cry, to withdraw in a painful bout of self-inflicted control.

"Shhhhh" he calmed her as tears escaped from her eyes. He showered kisses all over her then. Calming her, making her smile, then making her laugh. He leaned down bracing himself on his arms as she adjusted for him to settle more comfortably.

" _Relax_ my love" he said into her ear as his fingers slid down the length of her to move between their bodies. He felt the muscles of her belly jump in response to his touch, poised on nervous excitement.

"Elizabeth, my love relax." He said as he soothe the tense muscles of her neck with his mouth, prolonging the pressure as he felt her sigh. To help her, he slipped his fingers further down, curving them over the source of all his desires. He was barely able to control himself on hearing her gasp and moan his name. Her lips were suddenly like those of a blind woman, frantically searching for his own. "Spread your legs for me love, let me come inside you. Please let me be inside you Elizabeth" His rasped out between kisses, almost overcome by feelings he could hardly express. The need to join her, to be in her had gone beyond the physical, he craved it.

Holding himself above her, he tried again, moving almost excruciatingly slow. Pulsing, he felt his control slip as he sank into her. With great effort he stopped and raised himself seeking her comfort. Their eyes held, and even as he pressed forward, their eyes held. Suddenly, without warning, the barrier preventing him was removed and he was in her.

It was primal and it was right. _This is what I was made for_ he thought. To be here, inside _this_ woman. This is what life is. He knew then the power of a long sought physical union. Desire was nothing without the transportations of these delights born from love. As he felt her body encase him and as she moved to feel him within her, flexing and contracting unconsciously, he felt an irrational feeling of jealousy against the unknown and he prayed against any conflicts in their lives that should ever result in her having to turn to another.

It felt as if his whole life had been centred on this moment. He pressed forward again and he was fully inside her, the pleasure so intense as she involuntarily squeezed him, that he wanted to cry. He felt gentle finger tips brush the sides of his face and realised he _did_ cry. Overcome, he buried his face into her dark, streaming hair, tasting the contours of her neck before trailing his lips back to hers. He twitched inside her and felt her body start and then respond with a tightened contraction. They stayed like that, their heavy breathing audible, getting use to the new sensations.

His body started to move of its own accord now and then she called his name, not his first name, but his last, the name she knew him the longest with. Gone was the 'Mr.' as he fanned the intense flame of her longing inside her, he was only 'Darcy'. She lifted her legs and trapped him so that he could not move as he had wanted, he could only rock his body against her, inside her. Their bodies slick with sweat were held fast against each other, suddenly he felt her breathing become rapid as her breasts pressed up against his chest and her hips centred against his. Her hands on his shoulders pulled him down as she made to sink him further into her. He felt her contract as his own name sounded into his ear. In losing control she fought it and when it finally overtook her, she cried out his name as waves upon waves broke through her and glided over him. He could no longer hold back even if he wished it. And as he gave in to that final burst of feeling, that final sensation like a careening carriage plunging down a hill, he was lifted up in an ebullient, euphoric frenzied release. An overflow of emotion that emanated from the very depths of him and flowed into the very depths of her. Still joined to her, he kissed her deep and held her tight. He had lost his heart to Elizabeth Bennet but what he gained from Elizabeth Darcy was much more profound. This woman beneath him, all around him, covering him with the smell of her, the taste of her, the very essence of her being, was for him, his new reality.

As he brushed her dampened hair from her face, he smiled, he had with him the perfect present. His past was replete with mistakes and errors, he knew that. But in his arms lay a version of perfection that drowned all the past. For all their many faults, she was his perfection and he was hers. She had brought into his life a future of change and of forgiveness and of love, and no man was ever more grateful than he.

Four hours later, as they both drifted in and out of sleep he felt an odd movement on his chin. She had awakened, the room was freezing with the fire having been extinguished and the rain falling hard on the outside. Tentatively she reached her hand up to caress his face, slightly rough from overnight growth. She caressed him as if he were the most precious thing to her, with unashamed tenderness and love.

"You are an utter cad." She said while fingering his lips.

Widening his eyes in unexpected surprise he looked at her.

"A cad aye and you have known many, to recognise the one?"

"I have indeed, pretty women always meet them."

 _Such rudeness!_

He leaned in to kiss her "such a sweet wench...I take it I am to be punished in a manner befitting my status?"

"You are to be treated as how cads of your calibre deserve." She said this as she ran her hand seductively down his spine, pulling him closer, drawing him nearer, giving him the clearest example of his beautiful reality.

Yes, his past was over, his present was perfect and his future was very bright indeed.

 _Finis_

 _There you have it- my interpretation of what may have been running through the mind of Fitzwilliam Darcy in the young hours of his marriage. Thoughts I believe, if a man like him had actually existed, would have guided him for the rest of his life._


End file.
